Madness In Great Ones
by CertifiedGeek
Summary: A Post Doomsday, pre Season Three fic. The Doctor is traveling alone and finds himself investigating mysterious happenings in a hospital. Mild horror with some descriptions of violence.
1. Prologue

"I have seen your blood."

A strangely tall man with white eyes and perfectly blond hair stared mercilessly at the Doctor, his complexion pale from a decade of institutionalisation. Perfectly manicured hands twisted uncomfortably in his lap, shredding a white paper towel into confetti sized pieces that showered delicately across the linoleum floor. His right knee bounced steadily, the heel of his bare foot an inch above the tiles. The constant motion made his body rock rhythmically. He wore ripped jeans which were too big for him and a white restraint jacket covered a grey turtle-neck shirt. The jackets sleeves were relaxed, a set of handcuffs held the man to the cold metal chair on which he sat.

"Oh yes?" said the Doctor, his forehead creased slightly, "When did you see that then?"

A nurse stood in the corner of the room was idly scratching off the remains of pink nail varnish which the ward manager had instructed her to remove before she came back on to the unit. She watched the Doctor with a vague interest. He had a shamelessly unprofessional tone and was not the usual type of psychiatric consultant she was used to dealing with. He spoke to her for one thing, most of the doctors didn't deem it important to talk to nursing staff, unless a patient needed sedation or toileting. This one was quite different. Doctor Smith. Even his name was suspicious.

"In my dream," the white eyed man smiled unevenly, "I saw your blood in my dream."

The Doctor snapped shut the buff file in front of him and read the name again. Gareth Suffolk. Not a very special name for a very special person. Still, you couldn't help the name your parents picked out of their tiny little brains when their emotions were running riot.

"Listen, Gareth, can I call you Gareth? I can call you Mr Suffolk if you like but it sounds so formal and I can see from your records that you aren't fond of formality. As I was saying, Gareth, I'm interested to hear what you've been seeing in your dreams, because you are a very interesting person and I'd like to get to know you better."

The nurse snorted rather more loudly than she intended and earned herself a glare.

"I think I can manage, nurse. Perhaps you could catch up on your personal beautification somewhere else."

The nurse's green eyes almost popped out of her head, "No-one's allowed in a room with Mr Suffolk by themselves, Doctor."

"Well then if anything happens to me it will be my fault won't it? Go on, run along," he smiled broadly in an encouraging fashion and waited until she had flounced out of the door, her added tsk of disapproval sliced off by the gentle click of the door catch as it latched itself into the keeper. Swinging on the back legs of his plastic chair he rested his feet casually on the table and grinned cheerfully at the man before him, "So where were we?"

Albino eyes blinked back at him, "I have dreamed of you all my life."

The Doctor felt a rush of adrenalin spurt through his veins, "Oh yes?" he said again, "And what have I been doing in your dreams?"

The shock of blonde hair tilted sideways robotically and he leaned slowly across the desk to whisper a word in the Doctor's ear.

"Dying."


	2. Jackets and Chains

Chapter 2: Jackets & Chains

The Doctor looked rather disappointed. Dying wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but then again it could be an interesting death. Granted the last one was unexpected, but it hadn't been anything to write home about, well if he had a home to write to that was. He leant forward staring into the back of Suffolk's skull trying to fathom him out.

"Dying?" he said with more than a dash of incredulity. He sat back in the chair and wobbled slightly until he balanced himself perfectly between the wall and the desk. Gareth Suffolk's face showed a flicker of emotion for a moment and then it was gone. He had probably expected more of a reaction.

"Anything else?" the Doctor asked casually, "Apart from dying I mean. I always hoped that if someone was going to spend all their life dreaming about me that I'd be some dashing hero… I dunno, like Errol Flynn maybe, without the tights though, not my style. If I just die, well it's hardly exciting is it?"

Suffolk's white eyes and red pupils blinked at him like a fox caught in the headlights of a car that was racing towards him. He sat back in his seat and resumed his previous position, leg juddering slightly, fingers rubbing at the bottom of the jacket, worrying the lose threads until they knotted. His head inclined fractionally to the right, as though listening for something, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"You aren't like the others."

Breakthrough! The Doctor leant forwards again, conspiratorially, "No, I'm not."

A small trail of spittle was trickling from the corner of the man's mouth. Arms restricted by handcuffs he hunched his shoulder and wiped the clear fluid on a yellow stained patch of fabric. The movement was perfect. Well practised. Slowly the man straightened himself, taking on an air of unearthly knowledge, "You don't belong here."

The Doctor nodded agreement, "Neither do you." He cast a glance to the CCTV camera fitted in the corner of the consulting room, red light flashing on and off twice a second. In his trouser pocket he felt for his sonic screwdriver and carefully switched the machine off without moving the device into the camera's or Suffolk's line of sight.

A strange laugh barked out of Suffolk's throat, gnarled, twisted and devoid of any humour, "Been telling them that for years."

"Why are you here?"

"You read my file."

"That's just what other people think," he slid the psychiatric notes to the far corner of the table, "I'm interested in what you think."

"Why?"

"Because I could just be your ticket out of here."

Suffolk snarled, off white front canines exposed themselves from behind lips that looked bruised and swollen. He spat at the Doctor, a large globule of phlegm landing on the edge of the desk and dripping slowly to the floor.

The Doctor remained mostly impassive, except to raise his eyebrows at the excretion of bodily fluids. It was an impressive display, very well controlled, expertly designed to scare the hell out of most people. Without moving from his seat he could intimidate anyone within ear shot. Easy to see why he was locked up in a high security hospital ward. It was also repulsive. Still, he had a job to do, not the one Suffolk thought, and not the one the medical staff were expecting of course. Rising slowly to his feet the soles of his Chucks squeaked on the scratched, over polished, floor. In a movement that Suffolk never even saw he was standing behind the patient's chair, a hand resting purposefully on the dry left shoulder, his weaker side if the Doctor had judged it correctly.

"Now listen to me," the Doctor's voice was deathly calm and edged with acid, "I'm not here to play games. I'm not one of your puppets that you can make dance to your petty little tune. Yank my strings and I promise you I'll have them put you somewhere you really deserve to be… and that's not here, is it?"

If Suffolk's skin had not been already paper white he would have blanched. His neck moved as if to turn towards the Doctor but a second hand on the back of his blonde head forced him to stare forward at a pale green wall dented and stained, at some point in its life, by a tossed coffee cup. He breathed steadily, measuring his breaths, "What do you want?"

"Answers."

"About?"

The Doctor's fingers closed a fraction tighter on the back of the other man's head, manipulating the pressure points just enough to emphasise his point, "Everything."

A pained grunt snuck out from Suffolk's nose, "Alright."

The Doctor returned to his seat patience stretched thinly across his face, "We don't have a lot of time."

Suffolk's façade was cracked. He sat still now, extremities no longer moving in a nervous manner, and when he spoke it was in a deeper, unforgiving voice, "Where do you want me to start?"

The Doctor settled back in the hard plastic chair and smiled wanly, "Tell me about the dreams."


	3. Reality and Dreams

Chapter 3: Reality, Dreams and Things That Go Bump In The Night

The greater part of Suffolk's recollections were shard-like memories of things of no consequence, the ravings of a man drugged out of his mind on anti-psychotic, primitive, twentieth century medicine. Snippets of information seeped through the fog, vibrant pockets of brilliance shrouded by a host of invasive medical treatments that had stolen years of the man's life. His dreams, the most lucid of them at least, were horrific. Nights filled with aliens and monsters littered his childhood, all number of beasties had visited him in the realms of sleep.

Some of the dreams were just nightmares, images conjured by the fears of a terrified mind, but others… others were too close to reality to be ignored. According to the Doctor's watch, which was never wrong, it was 1996. The Slitheen wouldn't be around for another ten years, but Suffolk had described them, and the events of that first, official, alien invasion of Earth in more detail than it would have been possible to predict. He spoke in a distant, guttural voice, his eyes focused on a place far beyond the room in which he sat, pausing only to ask for a sip of water which the Doctor had considerately provided, holding the plastic cup to the man's lips while he drank.

When he began speaking again his gaze had changed, his white eyes turned to look at the Doctor, his tone more gentle somehow.

"I watched you die," he said, all traces of previous brevity on the subject wiped clean from his face, "Alone, here, in this place. In the belly of the beast."

"Soon?"

Suffolk nodded, "You will fight the daemon in the night. Its breath will fall on your face. I can smell it. It reeks of decay, a dead beast. It has taken others, others from this place. It consumes them, the sick, the infirm, the insane. They feed it when no-one is looking. Discharges, all pale and feeble, he gobbles them up and they make him stronger."

The Doctor's face had taken on a darker countenance, "Describe it."

Fear welled up with tears, "Please… don't make me look," his voice had changed to that of a small child, terrified of something it did not want to see. The monster under the bed.

"If I'm going to fight it I have to know what it is," his own voice was quiet, calm, reassuring. The Doctor stood and walked around the table taking a new position crouched down looking up at Suffolk's face. He reached out and squeezed Suffolk's restrained hand encouragingly, "Whatever it is, it can't hurt you. I won't let it."

Wrong move. Suffolk stared at the Doctor's hand as it touched his, eyes wide. Tears poured down white cheeks, brimming over the red edges of his eyes and cascading as a mini waterfall over the line of his chin, splashing onto the straight jacket which absorbed the liquid greedily. Squeezing the hand a little tighter for a second the Doctor stood and rested another hand on the man's shaking back, aware suddenly that the nurse was standing at the door again urgently ushering other's to join her in her as she opened the door and barged in with a trolley full of medication.

"Medication time," the nurse said brandishing a syringe with rather too much enjoyment in her face, "Come on then Mr Suffolk we can't be having these outbursts of yours, you disturb the rest of the ward. Lets get you off to your room and you can have a nice little sleep."

The Doctor was unceremoniously pushed aside and he watched with rising anger as Suffolk was bundled into a wheelchair and pushed out of the room by the well manicured nurse and two burly health care assistants. Swallowing his desire to stand between them and the door he looked on with disgust, vowing silently to deal with the human element, the moment he was done with the alien in the basement.

He stalked through the corridors of the Victorian building eyeing the damp spots on the walls, inhaling the smell of 'fresh pine' cleaning products, and absorbing the uncomfortable silence that was broken only by the radio which hummed quietly in the staff room at the end of the corridor. The hands on the clock at the end of the ward ticked over to 3pm. His shoes squeaked the length of the building, bringing a smile to his tightly pursed lips. Even his shoes defied the ward staff's regulations. Good shoes.

Rounding a corner at some speed he spotted a door labelled "Smoking Room" where a quiet conversation seemed to be taking place. He grinned. Someone else didn't like the silence. With an added spring in his step he gripped the door handle and pushed his way into the room.


	4. Aliens

Chapter 4: Aliens

A very one sided conversation was taking place in the Smoking Room as the Doctor loitered quietly in the doorway watching cigarette smoke circle in eddies through the air. Pushed aloft by the heat of the television that flickered silently in the corner and the gush of fresh air that the open door let in, thick tobacco fumes sought freedom through the tiny open window near the ceiling. A young woman, still plagued by teenage skin, rocked nervously in the corner, perched on the coffee table like a little gargoyle, hair shaved off apart from a rat's tail at the base of her skull which she was tugging with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. In the other corner an older woman, perhaps in her sixties, was busily knitting a dishcloth, chatting away happily about an indecent relationship between two members of the ward staff. The Doctor coughed to announce his presence and smiled cheerily at them, giving a little wave as he let the door close itself behind him, the self-closure mechanism hissing quietly.

"Hello ladies. Mind if I join you?"

The older lady put down her knitting and tapped the chair next to her, "Come and sit down lovey, you look tired."

Perceptive, he thought, taking the proffered seat and noting the lack of dilation in the woman's pupils as her eyes met his, "I'm the Doctor. What's your name?"

"Margaret Treverna," she offered her hand politely, "They call me Maggie."

"Pleased to meet you Maggie," he shook her hand firmly, "Nice dish cloth you're knitting there. Made many before?"

She laughed loudly and clapped her hand over her mouth as if expecting someone to rush in with admonishments for the hilarity, "Made one every day for the last five years. I stopped giving them away when my family stopped visiting. Now I undo this one and start again with the same wool tomorrow. Recycling."

"Ah," the Doctor nodded, wondering why a nice old lady like Maggie was locked up in a secure unit, "Good plan."

Maggie smiled appreciatively, "Thank you, Doctor."

The girl in the corner had stopped rocking and was looking at the Doctor curiously.

"Alien," she said abruptly, and tucked her knees up under her chin.

Maggie nodded, "Yes, dear, I know. But he's a nice alien. I can tell."

The Doctor looked at the pair strangely, "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"That you are an alien, or that you are a nice alien?" Maggie laughed quietly, using the half made dishcloth to muffle the sound, "Oh dear we have put you in a bit of a spot haven't we?" she patted his arm affectionately and offered him a humbug from a

brown paper bag, "We've been trained you know, to see aliens. Ever since I came here that's all people talk about, at night of course, when the nurse is asleep at her station. It wouldn't do for the nurses to know what was going on. They might tell someone

and then there wouldn't be any fun any more would there?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," he agreed, still frowning and sucking on a slightly sticky sweet, "So, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?"

The smile of Maggie's face was a bemused one, "The same reason you are, Doctor, to save the Earth."

It was all getting just a little confusing, thought the Doctor as he looked back and forth between Maggie and the girl on the coffee table. People, normal, human people, locked up in a mental hospital, some of them completely able to function within society, and they could all see aliens. Maggie seemed like a perfectly average woman for her age, a bit eccentric perhaps but you could expect nothing less of a woman who had been institutionalised, staring at the same walls for years. Her companion was, he agreed, a little on edge, but he had seen worse in people damaged by war or grief.

"Who runs this place?"

"Torchwood."

It was the girl again. She had crept a little closer, staring at his chest intently.

The Doctor felt his blood run colder.

"Afraid!" the girl screamed and darted back again, "Two hearts. Two. Two. Look at them!"

Maggie shushed her with a wave of her hand, "Nel, quiet! You'll make the nurses come."

Nel was still pointing at the Doctor, "Afraid!"

The Doctor felt a hand on his arm again, "You'll have to control your feelings a little more, deary, Nel's very sensitive about these things."

"Sorry," he said quickly, "Not used to humans being so perceptive."

"That's alright my love. Nel's very new to this," she moved a little closer, straggly white hair brushing his ear as she whispered, "The drugs are making her worse at the moment."

"And what does Torchwood want with you?"

Maggie's eyes looked away, "You of course Doctor, but you know that already."

"But it's 1996..."

The knitting needles began clicking again, "Gareth told us you would come. But Gareth tells us lots of things. THEY made him sick with all the drugs so now he doesn't know what he 'sees' and what the drugs tell him. I see too, but I don't tell them that. But you have places to be, in Time, Doctor, and you make such a muddle of it all that I can't be sure what you have done already, and what is still to come."

Nel was circling him like a scared dog ready to make one last launch at an attacker, "Got to get it. The monster. It stinks of death. Gonna eat us all."

The Doctor nodded solemnly, "That's what I'm here for Nel. I'm going to get the monster."


	5. The Stuff of Nightmares

Chapter 5: The Stuff Of Nightmares

The plant room was dark and stank of oil. Poorly lit, the basement of the hospital building was filled with shadows and punctuated by the occasional blast of red and orange from the setting sun. The building was long and narrow, north facing, with windows to the east and west. Broken glass in the small Victorian lead frames let through sporadic blasts of cold air and the first sniff of winter. The boiler chugged contentedly in the room next door, heat belching its way through the brick wall. On the surface everything was as would be expected. Dirty, poorly attended, but functioning. The basement of the building also provided a convenient refuge for local cats that squeezed through the broken windows and nestled contentedly on dirty rags. Apparently unconcerned by the Doctor's presence a fat ginger tom opened a lazy eye to inspect the uninvited visitor then closed it again with a vague look of displeasure at having his sleep disturbed. The Doctor eyed the hairy creature warily, remembering cats in nun's habits.

Feline's were, however, usually very good at sensing danger, and if they were sleeping here on a regular basis it was unlikely that they were being disturbed by unearthly goings on. The Doctor was disappointed. The boiler room, and associated areas, would have been a perfect place to lie in wait for any hungry monsters. The remainder of the basement, so he had been told by a helpful porter, contained the old morgue, a disused therapy suite and an equipment store. If the monster, whatever it was, wasn't in the boiler room he would be willing to bet the old therapy suite was the next most likely home to the creatures from Suffolk's nightmares.

Like an old train carriage a passageway ran down one side of the building which allowed access to all the rooms. Light bulbs were few and far between and the corridor stretched from one end of the basement to the other with pockets of semi-darkness liberally spread along its length. It was hard to imagine the rooms had ever been used for the purpose of care, each one dark, dank, and reeking of mildew. The morgue, disused, was the next room he passed. The door was securely chained and, peering through the window, the Doctor could see that the place was empty with no where for any creatures to hide. A chill ran up his spine unexpectedly. He had spent too long with humans, their tradition of ghost stories had started to rub off on him.

The far end of the corridor was obviously more frequently used, it had been brushed clear of grease and grim at some point in the last month and there were wheel marks, presumably from beds or wheelchairs which had been dragged out of the equipment store. Opening the unlocked door and peeking inside it was clear the room was crammed with wheelchairs, hoists, bed screens and all manner of other devices, wedged in from floor to ceiling. The Doctor nodded to himself, nothing out of the ordinary here. Therapy room it was then.

The final room along the corridor, and the one nearest the main staircase, was the Therapy Room, as indicated by the fading blue sign with white writing which was hanging on one screw down the centre of the door. Fear emanated from the room, an age old stench that assaulted the Doctor's nostrils which he narrowed in response. Therapy. Electro-shock treatment. The electricity was still in the air even after decades of abandonment. Gritting his teeth, face set hard, the sonic screwdriver popped the lock and the Doctor made his way in.

To his disgust the room was evidently still in use, although not, he noted quickly, for the same barbaric purpose for which it was designed. A chair set in the corner of the room was equipped with restraints and it was positioned so that the patient, or the victim, would be forced to look at a large black hole in the wall. Behind the chair was a trolley laid out with equipment that was covered by a piece of blue paper, evidently set up for the next session. The remainder of the room was empty and, unlike the rest of the basement, perfectly clean. In other words, frequently used. Drawn to the hole in the wall the Doctor approached it carefully, sniffing the air. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. The hole stretched on forever, far beyond the realms of possibility, an inter-dimensional portal that somehow felt dark and oppressive.

"Well you're impressive," he said to the hole, "But what are you?"

Tentatively he reached out to touch the space and found his hand touching brick.

"Odd," he muttered softly, running his hand over the centre of the black space to be sure. Still brick.

"Oh very clever, cunning, amazing... and definitely not human. This is a million years beyond the capabilities of mankind. So Torchwood can't have made it. They've found it, here, in this place and they've taken over the asylum to use it." He felt a sick feeling sweep through him. "A portal. A psychic portal. Tuning into the brain of every poor soul that's stuck in that chair."

Feeling the blackness grow stronger in his mind as he stared at the portal the Doctor turned unsteadily away and forced himself out of the room. He needed to know what was coming through the gateway and Suffolk seemed to be the man with the answers, or some of them anyway. He checked his watch, it was just after seven. He needed a conversation with Suffolk before the night shift took over. Running up the staircase the Doctor hoped he wasn't going to be too late.


	6. Tempus Fugit

Chapter 6: Tempus Fugit

There were sixty-three steps from basement to the ward and he had run up fifty-nine of them before coming to a dead stop, his progress blocked by a large security guard in a blue uniform. Arms folded firmly across his chest, head bald as a coot, the man barred the Doctor's way with the sheer breadth of his body. Wearing a patient expression, which clearly was merely a façade, the man looked down at the Doctor with disdain. The Doctor felt time slipping him by.

"Excuse me sir, but the Sister had asked me to escort you from the premises," his voice was dry and gravely, his larynx damaged at some point earlier in his life, "If you wouldn't mind, leaving of your own accord would save both of us a lot of discomfort."

The Doctor reached into his pocket and produced the psychic paper, "As you can see I'm here from the Department of Health, official business and all that. Now the Sister and I got off on the wrong foot earlier," he improvised quickly, in fact he had no idea who the Sister was or how she knew that he was investigating things for himself, "How about I go up there and have a quick chat with her and get all this sorted out?"

The security guard stared at the wallet that was being pushed in his face with some indignation, "I have my orders sir."

"Oh come on!" the Doctor watched another minute tick by on the clock above the door, "This is the health service, not the army!"

"Never-the-less, sir," the 'sir' was getting more forced by the moment, "You have been asked to leave. If you fail to do so I will escort you from the premises."

"Seriously?"

A wry little smile snuck out from the man's lips, "There's more than the Department of Health at work here, sir. Should you fail to leave of your own volition I will be empowered to remove you by force."

There was a long pause. The security guard waited impatiently for something to happen. He carried no weapons, the Doctor noted with some relief, but he was a big man, possibly three times the Doctor's own weight and a head taller than him. Not the type of man to mess with in a stairwell. Options? Acquiesce. Exit the building and find another way in. Risk a confrontation. Or create a diversion. The first would take too long, the second was potentially dangerous for both parties, the third...

A plastic chair dropped down the stairwell from above and caught the Security Guard on the temple dropping him to the floor instantly. His body bounced down a couple of steps to land at the Doctor's feet unconscious but otherwise mostly unharmed. The Doctor looked up to see who had intervened in the tête a tête and saw Nel peering nervously over the banister.

"Hello!" the Doctor called up the stairs, "Nice shot that. Thanks."

"It's coming," Nel hissed at him, "Hurry!"

He bounded up the remaining stairs and extended a hand to the girl. She could only have really been 19 or so, so young and vulnerable. Just like Rose. He pushed away the thought, "Are you coming with me? It might not be safe up there by yourself."

Nel crept down the stairs one at a time, crouched down trying to hide behind the banister as she went. Reaching the bottom she stared at his hand as if afraid his touch would burn her then in a flurry of movement snatched up his hand in hers and proceeded to lead him through the double doors and on to the ward at a steady run.

Pushing him into an alcove near the nurse's station she turned and looked at him with a sudden clarity in her eyes, "You need to see Gareth and Maggie. End of the corridor, turn left. They have the end rooms. I'll divert the nurse."

In another sudden movement she was gone, hurling herself up the corridor screaming hysterically and tipping over the drugs trolley as the nurse emerged from the clinic with it.

"You're all gypsies! You're stealing my thoughts! The devil is coming. Coming from the basement. He will destroy us all!"

Four nurses ran forward from various areas of the ward trying to restrain Nel as she kicked and punched her way through the main corridor. Thanking her silently the Doctor slid along the wall in the opposite direction hoping it was not too late to save them all.


	7. Destiny

Chapter 7: Destiny

Suffolk's room was a padded cell meticulously designed for his maximum protection. Anti-ligature protocols had made sure that there was nothing in the room with which he could harm himself, there were no exposed electricity points, no breakable object, and the light was built into the ceiling well above the reach of any mere mortal. The young man lay motionless on the bed, eyes wide open, humming a tune quietly to himself. Hands by his side, now unrestrained, he tapped the beat on the bed frame. The door was locked, the Doctor hoped that it had an automatic release in the event of fire but judging by the treatment of the patients he wouldn't like to guarantee it. Breaking the lock, permanently, with the screwdriver he knocked on the frame with the back of his hand and walked in quickly closing the door behind him. Suffolk did not get up but a slow smile formed on his lips.

"I knew you would come," he said.

"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you," the Doctor walked over to the bed, "Now listen, this is important. I've got an idea what they've been doing to you here but I need your help. But you're going to have to trust me."

Suffolk sat up. His movements were precise, planned, as though everything in his life were a script. He regarded the Doctor with an unnatural calm, searching the depths of the Doctor's eyes and reaching back through disjointed memories, "The question really is, Doctor, can you trust me?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

They both knew that the response was superficial, but it did not matter. To the human it was a game and to the Doctor Suffolk represented the choice between saving life or leaving it to be snuffed out. The two men studied each other for another moment, the noise from the scuffle in the corridor becoming a distant disruption.

Behind them the door banged against the wall as Margaret made her dramatic entrance, panting for breath, "It's here!"

The Doctor turned in a whirl of action and grabbed both of them by the hand, "Come on. I've got a date with destiny."

Margaret, still clutching her knitting needles and half made dishcloth in one hand, scurried behind the Doctor, the soles of her flip-flops slapping against the floor as she ran.

Suffolk stalked beside them, his face cold and dark. Withdrawing himself from the Doctor's fierce grasp Suffolk stroked the fingers of his left hand with those of his right, marvelling at their design and the ease with which his whole body could move when not contained within the straight jacket. As he walked he flexed each digit individually, feeling the muscles and tendons pull and relax as he made a lose fist to his left and right. Destiny would reach them all, he thought absently, and when it did, he would be ready.

Rounding the corner and entering the main hall where Nel was being restrained by two members of staff the lights began to flicker erratically. Electricity streaked down the walls at first in thin blue lines but growing until the walls were awash of colour, sparks of white heat bouncing out, leaping for the light fittings and metal curtain rails. One or two patients were standing motionless in awe of ultimate in light shows, a nurse was standing, hand poised over the fire alarm, unsure whether to risk electrocution and break the glass, and a gaggle of junior doctors looked on, panic stricken, as a herd of patients rampaged down the corridor screaming with euphoric pleasure.

Suffolk laughed maniacally above it all, his face split ear to ear with a grin. Margaret clung to the Doctor's hand, apparently the only sane one left in the building, "Its escaping. Through the hole in the basement. Its breaking through into this world."

The lights went out and the walls became the only source of brightness in the building, the blue glow illuminating everything in sporadic intervals.

"Everyone OUTSIDE!" the Doctor yelled above the din, "Except you two," he turned to Suffolk and Margaret, "I need you both with me. I'm sorry."

Margaret wiped a stray tear with her dishcloth and nodded resolutely. Suffolk merely smiled and stepped towards the staircase which led to the basement.

"Destiny awaits," he said with a grin, and threw open the door.


	8. The Basement

Electricity ran down the walls like rain in a storm covering everything in a sheet of blue light. As the Doctor, Suffolk and Margaret ran down the staircase the light chased them, lapping like the tide at their heals. The screams from above subsided as they barrelled through the basement door into the pitch black. The electrical force remained outside, trapping them between the throbbing electricity behind the door and the group of Torchwood medics who, they realised slowly, were watching them. The Doctor cursed quietly under his breath and forced a cheerful smile onto his lips.

"Right then, now we're all together let's get this show on the road," he looked every one of the medics in the eye wondering if he had met any of them before but recognised none of them. That was good, no chance of a paradox, "Come on gentlemen, lead the way, I know you've been waiting for this."

Two medics stepped forward nervously and gripped Suffolk's arms, another two took hold of the Doctor leaving Margaret unattended, petrified and weeping hysterically in the corner. A gentle faced boy, probably only just qualified, stepped up and took Margaret's hand leading her into the therapy suite behind the others and positioning her in a corner where she could watch the proceedings but would not be in the way.

Suffolk was lead to the chair kicking and screaming his eyes pure red as his blood pressure soared, bursting the capillaries. Blood poured down his nose covering his shirt in seconds. The Doctor bellowed at them, his voice full of fury but his cries were ignored except by one of the white coated men who delivered a short, hard blow to the Doctor's face with a clenched first.

Confusion and chaos filled the room. Behind the doors the hallway glowed blue and in front of them the hole in the wall seemed to swell outwards like an oversized pimple growing exponentially. The entity fed on Suffolk as he sat, now just a metre from its bulging crown, tears pouring down his face with words flooding from his lips incoherently. A deafening roar ripped its way through the blackness in a voice so deep it reverberated through the room sending Margaret tumbling to the floor in abject fear. The grip on the Doctor's arms loosened as the two men restraining him began to doubt their purpose.

Erupting like a volcano the hole in the wall spewed black lava across the room, coating Suffolk completely and reaching the back of the room with enough force to blow out the window. Suffolk choked on his words, unable to make a sound as something as thick and black as tar forced its way into the word.

One of the medics held a video camera at the gaping wound that was leaking into the room and in the seconds of silence that followed the explosion he turned, grinning madly, "Describe it for the camera, Doctor."

"It's a vortex. A spatial anomaly which is feeding on the minds of the poor souls you are sticking in that chair. It's ripping though their very being. Killing them. Destroying the fabric of their soul, leaving them barren and lifeless. By the time you've finished recording this every person in this room will be entering a vegetative state, but don't let that stop you! After all, you've called it through. Congratulations on your success," his words dripped, frostily, from his tongue, "When this creature is done with us it will consume this entire world."

A look of fear suddenly found its way to the faces of the scientists in the room, a dawning, belated, realisation of certain death. The hands on the Doctor's arms slipped away and the men ran for the door noting only as they opened it that the electricity was pulsing through the frame.

Their screams were short and the smell of scorched flesh filled the room.

Suffolk's rantings began in earnest. Blood, sweat and the black of the vortex smothered him, "Feasting! Drowning! Gather the souls! I will protect them. Come home to me. I am your salvation."

In the back of the room Margaret screamed.

The creature from the vortex slid to the floor in a liquid form and ran, stream like, towards Suffolk, sliding up his legs and crawling over his chest before pouring into his open mouth, filling his lungs and choking out his words.


	9. Conflict

For a moment there was stillness. The electricity stopped pulsating through the walls and the vortex hung like an open mouth, gaping, slack jawed, at the world. In the chair before the void Suffolk's body was stiff, rigid. His face, ashen by nature, was now ghost like, a complexion that in its transparency allowed those before him to watch the blackened blood course through his veins, his bloodied eyes transformed into saucers of tar that leached tears across his cheeks. White hands clutched at the arms of the chair, finger nails embedding themselves in the wood.

The Doctor, the three remaining Torchwood scientists and Margaret looked on in horror , watching as Suffolk's body rose from the chair breaking through the restraints as though there were as thin as a newly sewn cobweb. With the video camera still rolling one of the men edged his way around to get a better shot of Suffolk's face. Suffolk's hand swept skyward a blast of energy tossing the camera and it's operator into the vortex, his screams lost before they began. The other men retreated step by step towards the door, but they were not fast enough. Extending both hands towards them Suffolk lifted the men clear of the floor and sent them crashing through the wooden door, their heads splitting on impact. Whatever feeling they had did not last long as the electricity began to pulsate again electrocuting their dying bodies as they hit the floor.

"That's ENOUGH!"

Margaret stared at the Doctor as he marched across the room face creased in a furious frown, fists clenched tightly at his side. She pressed herself into the corner of the room, too afraid to make a sound.

Suffolk was laughing, his hand stretched out towards the approaching Timelord, "I have seen your blood, Doctor, and now I will taste it."

Feeling himself lifted into the air the Doctor stretched out his own hand and caught Suffolk by the ear, wrenching it hard enough to cause the man to curse in pain and release his hold for a moment. It was enough time to grab his sonic screwdriver but not enough to get the distance he needed. Airborne again, this time at speed, the Doctor hit the wall by the vortex his skull rattling against the brick. Suffolk knelt before him, a hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the Doctor's shirt and tie, twisting the material enough to choke. Wheezing for breath the Doctor struck out but his fist failed to connect with anything solid, and he found himself being pushed up the wall until he was suspended a foot from the floor, Suffolk's fingers digging into his oesophagus. A warm damp sensation trickled down the back of his neck.

Holding the Doctor in position Suffolk leant forward sniffing the air. Licking his lips he breathed into the Doctor's ear as his black tongue caressed the wall slowly, running along the plaster wiping the Doctor's blood across his face. Feeling his vocal chords collapsing under the pressure of Suffolk's grasp the Doctor barked out words into Suffolk's face.

"What are you?"

Suffolk's face creased into a smile of superiority, "I am human."

Eyes beginning to bulge in their sockets the Doctor gasped for enough oxygen to speak, "And the thing inside you?"

"Merely a creature of power. A conduit," Suffolk face was darkening, his pale skin coloured by the blackness in his blood, "It is barely sentient. It found its way to this world through a channel in space and gorged itself on the broken souls and the electricity in this room. Then they found me. They set me before the hole in space and we fuelled each other. New humanity filled with the power of extraterrestrial sub-life. We combine. We feel. We can touch the stars and drag them to Earth, travel a thousand miles in one step, glide across galaxies..."

The Doctor's hand tightened on his screwdriver, thumb and forefinger twisting the controls with well practised accuracy, "That's what I was afraid of."

The world was starting to vanish in tears and shadows. Blood drummed in his ears, his double pulse slowing, struggling, fighting for air and finding none.

And then before him Suffolk stumbled, his head smashing forwards hitting the Doctor heavily in the chest, but with no power. The hand on his throat slipped away and as he dragged his hand across his eyes he saw two knitting needles and the ragged end of a dish cloth protruding from Suffolk's throat.


	10. Conclusion

Blood spurted across the room.

Suffolk clawed with weakening hands at the Doctor's suit, desperate and hopeless. The needles which had severed the jugular and the voice box and had entered through the muscle at the back of the neck with incredible force, the points of the knitting implements puncturing the skin at the front making a V shape on exit.

_Help me._

Suffolk's mouth moved but the only sound was a dying gurgle as he fell to the floor in a pool of his own blackened blood which was spreading thickly across the floor like treacle. Electricity pounded through the room, the walls now a consistent neon blue, the broken door spitting bolts of energy from hinge to frame. The blood was drawn to it, spreading across the floor, a river breaking its banks and flooding the flat lands around it.

Margaret was standing very still, her empty hand still raised in striking position, an unnerving calmness in her face. Without moving she watched the Doctor drag himself upright, examining the blood that had spattered his trousers. He staggered across the room avoiding the blood as best he could, dragging Margaret with him. The void was beginning to close, the edges turning in on itself, collapsing the gap between worlds.

"I've got to turn the power off!" he yelled at Margaret who had not spoken a word, "I need to cut the power to this building before that black liquid makes contact with one of you. It's developing. Merging with Suffolk made it more human. Before it could only absorb his DNA, now it knows how humans are made up it could take any one of you."

She was staring at the Doctor, a rabbit in the headlights, hands twitching nervously.

"Maggie, come on! If that blood touches the electricity it will produce enough power to destroy half of London. I've got to get the power off and contain it," the Doctor was looking for a way out, watching the hole in the wall shrink an inch at a time, "And I've got to get it back through that vortex before it closes."

"We all see things, Doctor," Margaret said suddenly, "Gareth's were the strongest but I had them too."

The Doctor caught her wrist in his hand, a fierce grip that turned his finger tips white, "No."

She smiled at him, "Oh Doctor, you aren't the only one who is cursed," she gestured to the hospital walls which were still electrified "You cannot save the world all the time, let me do it, just this once."

His grip on her wrist did not loosen but her hand was on his gently prizing away his fingers.

"Think of it as a gift," she said, her fingers now holding his hand softly, , "Besides, this void is not the one you are looking for and if you take this path you will miss the one you should be on."

He stared at her, feeling her fingers gently squeeze his hand then release him, "You know...?"

She stepped backwards, moving towards Suffolk's body and the closing void, "Goodbye Doctor."

Margaret's heal touched the sticky blood and, sensing her warmth, the creature began to climb up her leg. Dark and warm it moved quickly, covering her body. Stooping she cupped her hands and gathered a pool of the contaminated fluid. It seeped between her fingers running slowing down her clothes as she raised her hands hesitantly to her lips and with closed eyes drank the creature into her.

The transformation was swift and brutal. Margaret choked, clawing at her throat with blood stained hands and staggering back to hole in the wall which was closing faster. As the blackness took over her face she looked with inhuman eyes at the Doctor and threw herself into the void just as the blood touched the electrified wall.

The explosion rattled the foundations of the building. Dust and plaster fell from the ceiling and the electricity in the walls poured into the mouth of the void behind Margaret as she fell back through the vortex that was collapsing in on itself.

In the silence and the emptiness that followed the Doctor stared blindly at the brick wall. The electricity had gone. The world was silent, dark and still. All around him was the smell of human blood and burnt flesh. Suffolk clung to the threads of life on the floor, able only to blink. His red eyes sought the Doctor's, a single tear trickling down his bloodied face.

The Doctor knelt on the floor beside him and placed a hand gently on the man's head, "I'm sorry."

Suffolk's eyes closed heavily, he forced them open for the last time.

"You had so much potential. The first of a new breed of humans. You were the seed that could have grown into something greater, something so much greater. But it's all over now. All of it. For you anyway. No more drugs, no more nightmares... No more monsters," the Doctor smoothed Suffolk's matted hair, "I am so sorry."

But there was no one left to listen and Suffolk's remorseless dead eyes stared up into the darkness.

The End.


End file.
